The Realer Bits
by fennecfawkes
Summary: Harry/Draco. Film & Scotch Saturdays at Harry's house are a new thing for Draco. Crying over fiction isn't. What a relief that he isn't the only one. Not mine, EWE, fluff, et cetera, et cetera.


After Draco Malfoy becomes an Auror, it takes Harry Potter two weeks to look him in the eye and another three months to call his colleague by his first name. Six months pass and they start saying "Good morning"; another four, and they're attending the same group lunch outings. It's the final step to a friendship, albeit a surface level one, Draco thinks. Then Harry pushes things one step further and before Draco knows it, he's on the man's couch, part of something Harry calls Film & Scotch Saturdays. How he ended up next to Harry on a fairly cozy two-seater is anyone's guess, and Draco pretends the proximity doesn't matter as Harry leans over to top of his drink.

"So, how'd this start, then?" Draco asks, attempting to ignore the way Harry's arm keeps grazing his and failing miserably.

"A couple years ago," says Harry, "Dean passed around these films about a spy—James Bond, have you heard of them?"

"No, I don't know much Muggle culture," Draco admits.

"Finally, someone else," says Ron, sounding relieved. Draco quit calling him—all of them, he supposes—by their surnames years ago, and the man formerly known to Draco as Weasel is no exception.

"Well, we watched those, or at least the good ones, according to Dean," Harry says. "Then Hermione showed us a lot of her film collection, then Seamus and his dad's, and it kind of grew from there, and here we are, about to watch some mad pick of Ginny's called _The Princess Bride_."

"It's not mad," says Ginny, affronted. "It's a classic."

"Alright, so that's the film part," Draco says. "Why the scotch?"

Harry shrugs and grins and Draco, unsuccessful again, tries to ignore the fluttering feeling in his stomach.

"I like alcohol," says Harry. "The delicious way it lowers inhibitions and all."

"Shall we start, then?" asks Hermione from the chaise lounge where she's all but wrapped around Ron. Draco's never been one for public displays of affection, but the two of them seem acceptable somehow. They're bordering on cute, even, and Draco wonders when he started thinking of former Gryffindors and current Hogwarts apprentices as cute. It was probably around the time Harry first called him Draco and his passing admiration from afar crossed over into a crush. Draco shakes his head discreetly. Sometimes he disgusts himself.

The film begins. Five minutes in, Draco elbows Harry and gestures to his nearly empty glass. Harry grins again and fills Draco's glass nearly to the brim.

"This doesn't come cheap, you know," Harry whispers, leaning over to say so in Draco's ear. Draco for once successfully avoids a physical reaction to Harry, suppressing a shiver.

"I'm sure a man with multiple Gringotts vaults and a spotless Auror record has room in his budget for a bottle of scotch," Draco whispers back. Harry laughs softly and turns his attention back to the film. Draco does the same and finds he's quite enjoying himself. It's a silly story, really, with a princess and a swordsman and a giant whose size mirrors Hagrid's. There are giant rodents and mistaken identities and one of the better-looking blonds Draco's ever seen. Granted, the man's no Harry Potter, but he carries off a mustache like no one in the real world.

And then it happens as the film closes and Draco finishes his fourth glass of straight scotch: he feels tears welling up in his eyes.

It's nothing he does under normal circumstances; indeed, Draco hasn't cried over anything that's actually happened to him since those sixth year weeping spells in the toilet with Myrtle. But now, with some frequency, when he's listening to the wireless and hears a particularly wrenching story or reaches an emotional high point in a novel, he breaks down. It's not so embarrassing when it's just him on his own, but as a shot's worth of tears stream down his face, he's acutely aware that Harry Potter is still right next to him, and he hopes to Merlin or the Founders or some unknown deity that Harry doesn't see.

The moment the first name appears on the screen, Draco mumbles that he needs to use the loo and searches for it on the first floor of the ramshackle home in which Harry lives. It takes a moment or two, but he finds it and pulls the door closed, locking it behind him as he allows himself to, as his mother told him the first time she saw it happen—seven years ago now, when he still lived with her at age 18—"cry it out."

"It's only a damn film, Draco," he mutters to himself, taking his handkerchief out of his pocket and drying his eyes. "No matter how lovely the story, it's still just that. A story."

Draco hears something and discerns it as "_Alohomora_" a second too late to slam himself against the door and block out whoever's intruding on him and his tears.

"Sorry," says Harry as he enters the room. "You rushed out so quickly, I thought you might be sick or something. Wait. Are you—"

"Yes, I'm crying, Potter," Draco says, sounding petulant even to himself. "I don't cry about anything but what isn't real anymore, and apparently, true love really, really gets to me." He tries to scowl at Harry but feels himself failing, achieving something between a frown and neutrality.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," says Harry, leaning against the counter. It's a small enough room that Draco's only a step or two away from him. "Also, I thought you didn't call me Potter anymore."

"Only when I'm trying to sound fierce," Draco mutters, looking at his feet.

Harry laughs, though not unkindly. "I've known you a while, Draco. I know you can sound fiercer than that. You must not have been trying very hard."

"It's difficult when I've just been caught crying in someone else's loo over some stupid film."

"Not just someone else, your friend," says Harry, and it should sound a touch too sweet but it doesn't. "And it wasn't stupid. It was brilliant. Gin was right, wasn't she?"

Draco shrugs. "It was a good story. And I enjoyed it. I enjoyed it a bit too much."

"You know you weren't the only one crying, right?"

Draco stares at Harry, who blinks back and adds, "Hermione's always the one to break first. Usually it's Demelza next, and I guess seeing his girlfriend cry breaks Seamus up a bit. Ginny mostly holds out. She's like that. But _Titanic _did her in. And I'm always last, but I always make the most noise."

"You cry over films, too?"

Harry nods, unashamed. "It's perfectly normal. It's just the whole grand drama of it, I guess. We get so wrapped up in these fantasies that they affect us almost more than real life."

"Almost," Draco echoes. "So, did you cry over this one?"

"Even more people than usual did, and there was a lot of kissing, too." Harry avoids Draco's eyes as he looks ahead. "Love stories do that. They remind you of what you have or something. Not me, but, you know, maybe sometime."

"No one for you right now, then?"

"Well, maybe someone," says Harry, sounding shy for maybe the first time in his life. "But I can't tell if he's, you know, interested."

"Who wouldn't be?" Draco asks, feeling a pang of jealousy toward whoever it is that's caught Harry's attention.

"What do you mean?"

Draco sighs. "Look, even if you weren't the Savior, you'd be terrifically fanciable. You're clever and funny and charmingly inarticulate and you've got nice eyes and a great ass."

He realizes he's all but told Harry he'd like to move in and play house for the rest of their lives, but hell, the man's seen him cry now, may as well go all the way. "I don't know who he is, but he'd be lucky to have you, OK?"

Harry shakes his head. "For being so intelligent, you're a lot more oblivious than I'd realized." He closes the distance between them, angles his head upward slightly, and brushes his lips against Draco's. It's extremely brief, too brief for Draco's tastes, but it's still Harry and Harry's still kissing him and it's what he's wanted since that day Harry asked, "Would you like a pasty, Draco?"

"So, assuming you meant all the really, really flattering things you said a minute ago, and that wasn't just bullshitting for my self confidence's sake—"

"It wasn't," Draco interrupts. "And your eyes are more than nice. And your ass is more than great."

Harry laughs. "Then I was just wondering if you'd like to walk back into the parlor and hold hands and tell me about the other stuff that's made you cry for a few hours till we fall asleep under that blanket you seem to like so much."

The idea of falling asleep with Harry Potter, no matter how innocent the circumstances, sends a thrill through Draco. "That hideous rag you insisted on keeping behind our heads for the last two hours?"

"That very same one."

"I think I'd like all that," says Draco. "Another thing, though."

"What's that?" Harry looks nervous. Draco doesn't want to cause that feeling, but the result, well, it's a little bit adorable, not that he'd ever use that word out loud.

"The kiss, it was fine, but I think we can improve on it, don't you?"

"That's a challenge, isn't it?"

"Get used to them, Potter."

Harry smirks, and Draco wonders if he's picked it up from him, before pulling Draco down slightly by the shoulders—the height advantage isn't a terrible thing, Draco decides as Harry's fingers massage the lower part of his neck—and kissing him again. This time there's tongue and lips and teeth all together, licking and caressing and nibbling all over and around Draco's mouth, and of _course _Harry's good at everything, but this may be one of the more impressive talents Draco's come across. It's the last thought he has for several minutes as he intends to do everything Harry's doing to him and somehow improve upon it; it seems impossible, but as has already been clarified, Draco never says no to a challenge, especially one from Harry Potter. It's when Harry's hands have slipped up under his shirt and Draco's are at the front of Harry's denims, starting to work at the belt buckle, when Harry says, "This might be a bit fast for me."

Draco drops his hands and rethinks it, moving them to either side of Harry's waist. Harry smiles at him and kisses him, quickly and softly. "Is that OK, then? I'm not a prude, I just—I don't really do this with anyone. At least, I haven't in years. And it's, it took ages with the others. There weren't a lot of them," Harry clarifies. "Just a few, but, I never—I've had a thing about you since we were 20, OK? And I don't want to open my present too fast, or something."

Draco laughs. "First, of course it's OK. It's been a while for me, too, and I don't want to lose this, what I assume will now be an exclusive relationship, because I was too desperate for your cock." Harry blushes, and Draco wonders how much more often he'll get to see that face. A lot, he thinks. "Second, you're not a prude. You're reasonable, despite all the evidence to the contrary." Harry pinches his waist, which he hasn't let go of, either, and Draco continues, "Finally, 20? Why? How?"

Harry's still blushing a bit. "Saw you at Diagon with Pansy Parkinson and Theo Nott. They were all over each other and you were mocking them for it. You were wearing Muggle clothes. I'm guessing you've decided they're an improvement over robes, then, too?"

Draco nods. "I don't hate seeing your body."

Still blushing. "And you had this really tight black sweater on, which was ridiculous, because it was noon on a really hot day in July, but you still looked comfortable and really, really ... at peace, I guess. And I wasn't entirely there yet, and I was jealous of that. Mostly, though, I was jealous of your friends, because I wanted to be one of them."

"Just a friend, then?"

Harry shakes his head. "Obviously not. But I thought it could be a start."

"Then why'd it take you so long to get there?"

Harry runs his hands up and down Draco's back, the motion so soothing that Draco's hoping he never stops. Well, unless the kissing starts again. Then he can stop. "Scared, I guess. Thought I'd be rejected. You're very private, you know. I had no idea if you were single or taken or looking or gay or straight."

"I thought the gay would've been obvious by the time we got reacquainted."

"Yeah, I got shit from Ginny for that when I told her after the first lunch thing," says Harry, smiling sheepishly. "She said you dressed entirely too well. Also, she knew you weren't dating anyone. I'm not sure how."

"She messes around with Blaise sometimes."

"Oh. Right. She does. Makes more sense now."

"So, we should probably leave this room and return to the land of the living before everyone decides we're fucking," says Draco, resisting the urge to lean his head against Harry's. Harry doesn't and presses his forehead against Draco's before nodding and kissing him and pulling him out of the loo by the hand.

Of course there's whoops and hollers and whistles when they come back into the room, and of course Harry won't let go of his hand and doesn't for the next three hours. But Harry's wrong about the blanket; soon enough, they're in his bed instead, still talking, still touching but not touching too much, because there'll be plenty of time for that now that they're dating.

"That's what this is, right?" Draco asks Harry sometime around 2 in the morning, when they've listed all the imaginary things that make them cry, and some of the realer bits of existence that put them on the brink. "We're dating now. We're a couple. This isn't really what I was looking for when I was 11."

Harry laughs and lifts Draco's hand to his mouth and kisses it. "Is it what you're looking for now?"

"I think you already know the answer to that question."

"I want to hear it anyway."

"Fine." Draco sighs deeply and theatrically, and Harry laughs again as Draco says, "Yes. It's exactly what I'm looking for. And you?"

"I've been looking for you for years, Draco," says Harry. "Who else was it going to be, really?"

"That's fair. In some way or another, you've always found me irresistible."

"Hm. I think I like this way best," Harry says before leaning against the Draco's collarbone and resting his face in the hollow. "Good night. Good first night."

"Good first night, Harry." And they fall asleep together for the very first time, of hundreds, it turns out, and Draco won't tell Harry this—at least, not yet—but it's the best he's ever slept.


End file.
